Tomorrow
by Savage Midnight
Summary: She waits for a day that will never come.


**Title: **Tomorrow  
**Author:** Savage Midnight  
**Rating:** G  
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars and all related elements belong to George Lucas. No copyright infringement intended.  
**Summary:** She waits for a day that will never come.  
**Author's Note:** My knowledge of the Clone Wars is a little limited, and though I've tried my best to work with the information found on the official Star Wars site, my improvisation may be a little off. Please feel free to point out any glaring errors and I'll be happy to rectify them. Feedback will be adored and treasured, as always.

* * *

"I never was, am always to be,  
No one ever saw me, nor ever will  
And yet I am the confidence of all  
Who live and breathe on this terrestrial ball.  
How loved and feared am I, how short, how long  
Far longer than the night, beyond the reach of every dawn."

* * *

He hits the floor with a cracking thud and hears something important break.

It is his leg. His left one. A pity he needs both to get anywhere.

He shifts upwards and grimaces, resting on his elbows. The pain is sharp but bearable, seeping away in waves as he waits, listening.

Droids, approaching fast from his far right. Two Destroyers making their way across the uneven landscape behind him, but they are at least half a mile away and not his concern right now.

There is not enough time for him to get to his feet and so he is forced to fight from where is painfully crouched on the ground. He reaches for his lightsaber as the first line of droids approaches and knocks them aside with a flick of his wrist, swings his saber in a graceful arch with the other hand and cuts through another three.

A few of them stumble, taking down more with them. There is momentary confusion among the droids as they loose purchase on the rocky terrain and he takes advantage of their disorientation to rise unsteadily to his feet. Then he is swiping them down with his saber, face tight and harsh with annoyance. He does not have time for this.

They fall easily and he staggers the rest of the way up the jagged incline. The landscape looks scarce now, apart from the Destroyers he can still see in the distance, but he knows that past the tops of the rocky hills and over the hollow craters he will find another army waiting for him.

He is not altogether wrong. When he reaches the top of the incline he sees soldiers, lines of them, cutting their way across the rugged landscape. But where he was expecting to see the burnished gold of a droid's armour shining back at him, there is only a vast wave of white and black.

The Clones. They crash on through the rocky mounds, trampling broken robot soldiers beneath their feet, weapons resting at their sides.

It can only mean one thing. No imminent danger. No rolling waves of mindless droids marching their way towards them.

It is a small victory for them. Almost four months spent on this planet and never once have these jagged planes fallen quiet for more than mere minutes.

It is a relief. While the Clones were able to fight continuously, Jedis were not. The Clones were able to replenish themselves without effort, were able to drive on through dangerous terrain and extreme weather for days on end requiring only the barest of nourishment. Just like the droids, they were made for one purpose.

To fight.

Jedis fight only for peace and Anakin has yet to find it. Nineteen months on and he knows the war is far from over.

But Obi-Wan has granted him a short respite from this hell, for which he is grateful. Thoughts of how he will spend that time come easily and his annoyance is all but forgotten in his excitement. There is no doubt as to where he will be by the time the suns set on this deadly planet.

He stumbles on, mindless of the pain that has now been replaced by a sweet ache, and makes his way towards the base.

He is going home.

* * *

It is winter in Naboo.

The season always brings with it a flourish of tourism. The planet is one of few to experience the short days and long nights, the beautiful snow drifts that are fortunately nothing compared to the rumoured snow storms of Hoth. The snow is light and fleeting at this time, but it will not be long before the rolling hills and endless meadows are buried beneath a carpet of white.

For now, though, the air is simply crisp and sharp and refreshing. It is early morning and the sun has yet to rise to melt the light hoarfrost that has covered everything in a fine blanket of diamonds. The landscape sparkles as brightly as the stars.

Padme Naberrie cannot tear her eyes away. She stands alone on the balcony on which she shared her first kiss with the boy she fell in love with; the boy she then later married in this very same spot. It is as if they were destined marry, as they were destined to always keep it a secret, forced to retreat to this same place time and time again.

But each moment is different. Each moment is more beautiful than the last and she cherishes every one as she will cherish those to come.

She waits for him now, as she always does, watching the sky as if trying to catch sight of him before he catches sight of her. But it is fruitless, as she knew it would be. His ship will dock on the far side of the planet and there will be no public reunion amidst the crowds at the docking port. More time will be wasted while she is forced to wait anxiously for her husband to cross the river.

Even then there will be no joyous celebration to welcome them. There will be no guests crowding the magnificent ballroom of her family's lakeside retreat, eagerly awaiting their arrival. No festivities in honour of a marriage they know nothing about. There will only be the two of them, as there has always been, but these days both have grown ever more grateful of the fact. Something has changed. What once started off as a hesitant, fragile bound, made weak by doubts and fears of discovery and destruction, has grown into something unbreakable. Any reluctance that may have existed between them has now become a steely determination that both terrifies and excites her.

It is that same excitement that ignites her now. She is oblivious to the chill of the pre-dawn breeze and every breath she takes is rich and intoxicating. Life has never been so achingly beautiful as the day he walked back into it.

But that ache is agony when he walks back out. Sharp and piercing, it leaves her painfully breathless and tittering on the edge of despair. For whether she is aware of it or not, Padme is secretly waiting for that horrifying day her husband never comes home.

It is a thought to chill the blood and she grows cold. Tears burn like ice in her eyes and she blinks them away. Her misery has no place here. It does not belong.

"You will freeze to death out here," a voice murmurs in her ear and she jumps, momentarily surprised. She didn't even hear him approaching.

His strong hands smooth their way up and down her bare arms, warming her, and she sighs her gratitude and leans back against his chest. Foolish of her, to wear a sleeveless number during Naboo's coldest season. But the night's chill has yet to grow harsh and Padme chose the winter gown only for its silken thread and soft fur lining. She remembers too well her husband's love for the softer things in life.

She turns then to face him, snow-white gown trailing against the stone floor as she moves, and she is startled at the sight of him. It has been months since she has seen him and his hair has grown into wild, burnished locks, obscuring a tired face with dark, intense eyes. The boy she married is gone and in his place stands a man.

She swallows the sudden bitter taste of loss in her mouth and peers out from beneath the concealing hood of her gown. She searches his sharp cerulean eyes and it is with deep relief that she finds what she is looking for. Compassion. He is nothing without it.

She collapses into his arms and sobs. His hand comes up to pull her hood down and bury in her dark locks and she feels the light wetness of his tears on her neck.

They part and there is only one breathless second before his lips come crashing down on hers. She whimpers and shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. She tastes the salt of their tears and knows that she is home.

Their reunion is one of desperation, as if any minute now their time will end and he will be forced to leave. She clings to him, as he clings to her, and the sobs wracking her frame seem to burst out of her. Her cries break the silence but she does not hear. There is only him and her and no one else. Nothing else. It is how it has always been and will always be, though something in her whispers that it cannot last, that it cannot remain as sweet and as beautiful as this day.

But tomorrow will never come, she whispers back. I will not allow it.

They are still locked together when dawn gradually breaks out over the horizon, thawing the frost until the colours of Naboo shine through, bright and vivid and alive. It is only then that they finally retreat into the privacy of their room, cast into heavy shadow at the click of a closing door.

* * *

It is two days later that he is forced to leave. Her pillow is stained with endless tears and she spends her nights cursing her own helplessness as she always does and will continue to do. A Queen and a Senator and yet the power to choose her own destiny will never be hers.

Tomorrow continues to come and go, and yet never fast enough, never slow enough.

And then time stops. Tomorrow ceases to come around and there is only that day, that horrible, terrifying day that she prayed would never come.

He does not come home.

She wanders the halls, aimless, breathless, waiting for tomorrow to bring her husband home. She waits for him on the balcony as she always does, but he does not come. When dawn breaks over the horizon, she retreats to the privacy of their room. Here there is no tomorrow, no today. There is only yesterday and its memories, that holds in its rapture a broken woman, dreams shattered at her feet.

She watches out of the open doors as Naboo slowly comes to life, its colours shining through, bright and vivid as ever.

She feels nothing. Something inside of her has been silenced. There is ice in her blood and she grows colder and colder these days. She longs for the warmth of her husband, the strength of his hands, but she will never know such things again.

She swallows the bitter taste of loss in her mouth.

She wishes nothing more than for the sun to disappear and leave her to her darkness, but it continues its ascent, marking the beginning of yet another day she does not wish to see.

She tears her eyes away finally. She retreats further into the comfort of their room, cast into heavy shadow by the click of a closing door.

She dreams of yesterday and tomorrow, of beautiful blue eyes and sparkling blankets of stars, and she is home.


End file.
